“I love you, Faith,” he said again. “I fucking love you. I’ve never said that to anyone in my life. I love you and I love the son you’ve given me. I’ll spend the rest of my life thanking you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Jackson.”
“Yes, I do. You don’t have to believe me now, but I’ll prove it to you, Faith. I love you, and I’ll thank you for your love with every breath of my life. I swear to God.”
I clung to him. He was my life raft and the world was a freezing ocean.
“I love you too, Jackson Jones.”
Chapter 43
Jackson
I LAY ON THAT COUCH in a daze. Faith’s lithe body was in my arms and I swore to myself I’d never let her go.
There’s no way what we’d done together could ever be undone. I’d come on her, I’d come inside her, I’d claimed her.
A strange, animal instinct came over me every time I was with Faith. It’s hard to explain it. It was like something from the National Geographic channel. Like when you see a lion claiming all the females in the pride. I don’t know how to explain it, but there was a possessive instinct in me. I felt that I’d kill for Faith, I’d die for her, I’d do anything for her. I’d felt it ever since I’d first set eyes on her, and it was stronger now than ever.
We didn’t need words when we could use our bodies to communicate. What words could say what my own semen had just said when it pumped up into her womb.
“You’re mine now, Faith Shepherd,” I whispered.
“I am,” she said.
My cock throbbed when she said it. Jesus, my cock was insatiable. I’d come so fucking hard my head was spinning, and still, a single word from her and it was throbbing again like a hungry snake on the hunt for prey. Faith’s * was going to be the death of me. Sooner or later it would tempt me too hard, give me a heart attack.
“You mean that?” I said to her.
She was playing with my chest, her finger running a little circle around my nipple.
“It depends, Jackson,” she said quietly.
“Depends on what?”
“It depends on what you mean. I’m yours as much as you want me to be. I don’t want to be a fool. If you want me, I’m yours. You don’t have to decide now what that’s going to mean for you.”
I squeezed her tight. She thrilled me. I wanted her to be mine all the way, but maybe she didn’t know that.
“I mean it absolutely,” I said.
“Absolutely?”
“Like, all the way, Faith.”
“Like you want to own me?”
“Exactly. I don’t know how to explain it. You ever see those old documentaries of World War Two?”
“Yes,” she said, a little skeptically. She wasn’t sure where I was going with the analogy.
“Well, I want to own you the way those marching armies wanted to own their conquered territory. I want to dominate you, Faith.”
She was quiet for a minute. My heart beat in my chest as I waited for her to speak. I didn’t see any point in being soft with words. If I had a feeling toward her, I wanted her to know it. And that was the most honest thing in the world I could say to her right then. I wanted her to be mine. Body and soul and heart. All mine.
“You want to dominate me?” she said.
“I want to dominate you completely.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, Jackson.”
She was afraid. She’d been hurt before, when I disappeared. She was afraid I’d disappear again, but I wouldn’t. I was back. I was back for her, and for Sam, and I was back for good. I wanted to be the father Sam needed. I wanted to be the man Faith needed. That meant being her husband. I knew it with a fierce certainty. I had to be her husband.
I leaned up and faced her. I looked into her eyes. Her eyes were so deep I could drown in them. I wanted to dive into them. We’d been fucking all night. We were both exhausted, ready for sleep. Outside, I could already see the strange change in darkness that occurs in the hour before dawn. It would be getting bright soon.
“I’m going to make you understand me,” I said to her. “I love you, and I know what I have to do, Faith.”
“What?”
“You’ll see.”
She smiled. She was struggling to believe me. She was afraid I was tricking her, or leading her on. I couldn’t blame her for that, but I wasn’t playing. I was deadly serious.
I leaned in to her and kissed her gently on the lips. Then I kissed her chin, her neck, the soft mounds of her breasts, still sticky from my semen. I kept going lower, trailing my tongue over her belly and navel. Then I kissed her stretch marks. I knew she was self-conscious of them because she flinched when I reached them.
“I’m ruined,” she said.